


Memento

by egoblow



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Exhibitionism, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scion Hanzo Shimada, Seduction, Shameless Smut, Undercover Missions, honeypot mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egoblow/pseuds/egoblow
Summary: Get in. Get out. Seduce and distract then retrieve the intel. It seems simple enough. Easy. Amateur stuff really. Gabe had whored him out enough times in the name of Blackwatch that Jesse considers himself the master of honeypot missions.Not that Jesse minds. Not one bit. He wouldn't agree to it if he did. The rush that comes with seducing some of the most powerful people on the planet sends such a thrill through his body that no aphrodisiac can match. He lets his gaze linger on his target a while longer and decides that tonight's target is the best yet.---Blackwatch!McCree seduces Scion!Hanzo in a honeypot scheme.





	Memento

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pikagi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikagi/gifts).



> This is a gift to the lovely Pikagi whose shameless love for McHanzo kickstarted me out of my writing hiatus. ❤
> 
> This is a fill for her prompt: McCree on a honeypot mission to seduce (Scion skin) Hanzo as a waiter. Spends the night flirting, brushing up against him, fingers touching, but to no avail. McCree takes a break to go update Gabe on the failing mission when what's up, it's Hanzo pressing him up against a wall. 
> 
> Enjoy!

"Bone-a sera, signor."

The words tumble out of him with ease, a well-practiced clumsy accent that plays right into his persona: Joel Morricone, 25, college dropout who came to Milan in a half-assed attempt to model, but works a fancy waiter job to get by. Sun-kissed, clean-shaven (and baby-faced as Gabe would declare), muscled with that stupid drunken mistake tramp stamp tattoo (thanks Deadlock)-- Jesse McCree looks every bit the part that he plays. Conspicuously attractive, but just unrefined enough that no one would chip away at the constructed persona.

He stretches his lips into a charming smile, lips gleaming in the moody light from some well-placed balm. Long chestnut bangs fall in front of his eyes though it does little to dampen the strength of the gaze that bears into him.

"Bruno Giacosa Barbaresco," The man grunts with his brows furrowed slightly.

The words go in one ear and out the other in an instant. It's some fancy name that Jesse McCree doesn't give two shits for, and he's lucky that his cover job doesn't require him to be good. If anything, the bumbling stupid American stereotype suits him just right for his true job.

Get in. Get out. Seduce and distract then retrieve the intel. It seems simple enough. Easy. Amateur stuff really. Gabe had whored him out enough times in the name of Blackwatch that Jesse considers himself the master of honeypot missions.

Not that Jesse minds. Not one bit. He wouldn't agree to it if he did. The rush that comes with seducing some of the most powerful people on the planet sends such a thrill through his body that no aphrodisiac can match. He lets his gaze linger on his target a while longer and decides that tonight's target is the best yet.

Japanese, young, and male: Hanzo Shimada, heir to the most powerful Yakuza clan. Black hair immaculately combed back with a precise swoop of bangs to one side. A neatly groomed beard with the faint spicy hint of aftershave when Jesse leans in. He smells as expensive as he looks, dressed in tailored, fitted pinstripes with a vest that allows his muscled arms to bulge deliciously against white fabric.

Oh yes, Jesse will have fun with this one.

"Scuse-ah-me, signor, cos-ah hey day-toe?" Jesse butchers the romantic language with an expression carefully schooled into cluelessness. He points randomly at the menu, "Qua-lay?"

The Yakuza heir stares at him, brows still knitted together. Jesse leans in a bit closer, inhaling more of that spicy aftershave, which sends shivers down his spine. He has one hand on the back of the target's chair and has his body carefully hovering over him. Jesse had made sure to leave the top few buttons of his shirt carefully undone so that a slight glance in his direction would give an eyeful of muscle and dark chest hair. The whole act is practiced and perfected. Jesse had spent the better part of the day sculpting his appearance into looking like quite the snack.

"Must I speak English to get some proper service around here?" The heir snaps at him and closes the menu sharply.

Jesse pulls back instinctively and blinks rather dumbly at the Shimada heir. All it usually takes is a peak of his chest, his hair falling in front of his eyes coquettishly, and his stupidly charming smile to get his targets melting into his hand like putty. This-- Jesse shakes his head and quickly recovers by offering a sheepish look-- this isn't what he expected. 

"Sure do appreciate it. 'Fraid I forget the tongue when I'm a little awestruck, ya know. You'll have to forgive me, _signor_ ," He drags out the honorific and seals the words with a wink. His gaze is unabashedly heated and it doesn't take an ounce of acting to pull off. The snobby Yakuza heir before him is exactly the type he'd pull aside at the club on the rare nights that Gabe lets him off the leash.

The Shimada holds his gaze for a moment, his perfectly symmetrical face as still as stone like the many statues that litter the city. "The Bruno Giacosa Barbaresco. Red label Asili," He growls without as much of a hint of appreciation for Jesse's attention.

Jesse walks away miffed, having never been so shot down before. It stings a little after breezing through half-dozen ringleaders and bosses who have all gotten down on their knees for him. It figures that someone who picks the most expensive bottle of wine in the whole goddamned country would prove to be this difficult.

"Here we go, _signor_. Your red label," Jesse presents with a theatrical bow. He decides to change his tactics up a bit and show a different side. A softer one, meeker, a bit shy-- he knows the kind of man that the Shimada heir is: Always drunk on power and used to having people drop to their knees-- it would call for a subtler, softer touch.

"Is there anything else I can do for ya?" Jesse asks, voice quieter so he has to lean until his lips are near the target's ear. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other until his left arm brushes ever so slightly against the Shimada's arm to feel his body heat. " _Signor_?"

The target doesn't move. Instead, he points at the menu against and snaps, "This. Cooked rare."

Jesse wonders vaguely to himself if their intel had been wrong. If Gabe should have sent someone from the fairer sex instead of him. 

He returns with the entree and makes a point to brush his hand against Hanzo Shimada when he sets the plate. It's just long enough to get his intentions across.

Nothing.

Bending over to pick up a fallen napkin and presenting his ass in pants a size too small doesn't even earn him a glance. Not one glance! He's always prided himself in his perfect globes of muscle and fat so the rejection stings. Bites him.

Dessert is a pristine tiramisu and it feels like the tables have turned. Jesse watches rapt with frustrated interest at the way his target sucks down on the tiny silver spoon and licks his lips. That thick pink tongue lapping away at the bit of cream that gets on his upper lip-- the way his lips wrap easily around the whole spoon until he pulls off it with a loud pop. It's the most his target has done besides grunt out orders and it is a sight Jesse plans to take home, mission success or no.

Jesse gives in halfway through watching his target nurse his airy dessert and decides to throw in the towel. He retreats outside and strikes up a cigarette under a sign that clearly declares **NO SMOKING**. He taps at his phone, sucking down on a thin cigarette. He prefers cigarillos for their flavor and having a little more girth to suck on, but it's too conspicuous. Besides, smoking a cigarette, face illuminated by his phone, paints an exact picture of an exhausted waiter that disappears into irrelevance.

"Yeah, dad? Hey, how's it going?" Gabe grunts from the other line. "Mmhm, yeah, Italy's fine. Lots of real pretty sights 'round here."

Jesse falls into some mindless chatter, mainly white noise to lull any nearby ears into ignorance. After a while, he drops the cigarette and declares, "Tell mom I'm gonna be back for Thanksgiving."

Gabe curses and halfheartedly plays his part. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah, yeah, thinkin' about headin' to Spain soon then home," Jesse pauses, thinking back to those thick lips framed by dark hair. His eyes flutter close at the thought. "Don't think this modeling gig is really working out."

Gabe sighs heavily and it's like a punch to the gut. Jesse hasn't quite failed him yet-- until now, and the disappointment settles heavily on his limbs. The failure stings doubly so because Jesse would have liked taking the most powerful man in Japan to bed. He would have enjoyed getting a nice feel for those arms or tasting the restaurant's pricey wine from his lips.

It would have been nice to have his hands all over him, that thick and compact frame boxing him in--

Jesse's eyes snap open as hot breath ghosts over his neck with hands pressing him up against the wall. He notes smooth, inky dark hair marked with a fluff of swooping bangs. Trimmed beard hair scuffs along Jesse's collarbone as lo and behold, his target sucks a hickey- mean and angry red- right to the front of his neck.

"Woah," Jesse drops his phone and it clatters to the sidewalk. Distantly, Gabe's voice comes out as a hollowed collection of noise. Jesse pushes back and gains some space between himself and the man trying to attack his neck like a vampire.

"What?" The Shimada asks, voice haughty and demanding, as if Jesse had rudely interrupted him. "Did you not want this?"

Jesse blinks, stunned, mind racing to rewind the events of the night so far and see if he had been wrong somewhere along the line. But no, every moment he replays is just another utter failure, crashing into a pile of rejection and disappointment. Nothing he had done had earned himself the slightest indication that he should be expecting the Shimada heir to be marking up his neck.

"No, no!" Jesse splutters out clumsily before shaking his head. "What I mean is, been gettin' nothin', but ice from you all night. What calls for the big change of heart?"

The target scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You are far too obvious in your desires. I don't like to reward such tactlessness."

"And sneakin' up on a man callin' his dad ain't tactless?" Jesse asks, still rather bewildered by the shift in the situation. He hopes Gabe can hear this, hopes Gabe has enough of a read to know to hold fast at base-- and to hang up. Jesse sighs heavily, as if he's releasing a burden.

"I been dreamin' 'bout those perfect pair of lips you got all night," Jesse declares, reaching out until his hands crease the pressed front of the pinstripe vest. He fists his hands, hoping that his target will remember him for the wrinkles tomorrow, and tugs the Shimada heir close enough to kiss.

It's a clumsy, messy kiss with two dueling forces and neither wanting to take the backseat. Their teeth clack together and Jesse vaguely feels some saliva slide down his chin after trying to subdue the other's tongue. Eventually, Jesse gives in and lets the Shimada suckle and nip his bottom lip. He practically gnaws on it as if he wants Jesse to remember this in the morning when he sees how puffy and bruised his lip is.

"Ya got a room nearby?" Jesse pants as soon as his target breaks for air.

Hanzo Shimada, his devastatingly perfect job assignment for the night, steps back and smirks. The look, so full of devious intent, makes Jesse groan with want and heats a coil deep in his gut.

"Penthouse," The other man answers. Jesse barely has enough time to swipe his phone off the ground before he's tugged away.

Jesse is, by no means, a petite man. He's over six feet tall, which means he towers over the Shimada heir. Yet there's something about having his target's thickly muscled arm wrapped possessively around his waist that makes him feel small.

The Shimada doesn't let go on their way to the elevator. He keeps his hand settled on Jesse's hip and somehow manages to guide them while sucking another hickey as dark as wine on his neck. The moment the elevator doors open for them at the lobby floor, the Shimada shoves him in with a forcefulness that gets blood rushing straight to Jesse's dick. The blood moves so fast that he almost feels light-headed and giddy.

Other hotel patrons try to join them in their elevator, but the Shimada stops them. The straight up murderous glare that the Yakuza sends to the other patrons hits him on such a primal level that Jesse slumps to the ground, knees weak. It goes according to Hanzo's plan, it seems, as the man smirks down at him while grabbing a fistful of Jesse's hair.

His target tugs and presses Jesse's face right against the expensive pinstripe pants. The earlier disappointment at his perceived rejection is long gone when faced, quite literally, with a hard, thick outline against his cheek. He mouths at it hungrily, caring not whether his drool stains the fabric, and thanks his lucky stars that Gabe ever saw something useful in that scrawny Deadlock brat.

Because this? This is a dream job: fucking around with powerful and dangerous men and getting to pass it off as international espionage.

Jesse looks up from his place on the floor at the Yakuza. He's kneeling in the middle of an elevator, barely able to breathe with how insistent the Shimada is on shoving his crotch in his face, all while smooth jazz xylophone ditties innocently above him. It's a moment that he never would have imagined an hour ago when faced with the stone-faced ice queen from then.

When he looks up, he's met with a heated, rapturous gaze. His target stares down at him with his cheeks flushed dark and lips parted. The sight is one to behold and Jesse takes a moment to memorize all the details. He'll want to remember tonight when he's back at Blackwatch base in his bunk and feeling frustrated.

"By god, ain't you somethin'," Jesse breathes out.

His target looks down at him and actually smiles at that. The soft expression is something to behold coming from the heir of Japan's most powerful clan of criminals.

"Such flattery," The Shimada declares as the elevator dings. He grabs a fistful of Jesse's shirt and pulls him up to his feet. The fabric actually rips under the force of the movement and leaves his left side bared. Jesse is left in a daze, neck marked up and shirt torn, as he leans against a wall while Hanzo takes his sweet time opening the door.

His gaze rakes over his target, lips curling in pride. The Shimada heir had shown up to the restaurant with carefully styled hair and an impeccable suit. He still looked devastating and his clothes were all in tact, but Jesse's sharp eye picks out the small differences. Hair standing up and awry in certain spots, his blue tie loosened and off-center, the tiniest glint of moisture along his beard from where Jesse had gotten too messy with kissing--

"Haven't even gotten started with ya," Jesse murmurs, fingers toying with the button of his pants. His dick is pressing insistently against the front of it, begging for some relief. His eyes focus on the Shimada's lips and damn, if he wouldn't beg for those lips to give his dick some relief.

" _I_ have not even gotten started with _you_ ," The Shimada heir corrects.

The door opens and Jesse gets shoved inside. Hanzo presses him up against a wall and pillages his mouth in a bruising, demanding kiss that leaves him breathless. He grips onto thick arms and wraps a leg around them, trying to help himself out by grinding against Shimada's matching boner.

"Strip," The Shimada heir orders in that same haughty, rich bitch voice that he used to order the most expensive wine on the menu. Jesse grins, feeling more obliged to fulfill this request than to fetch some bottle.

"I hear ya, pumpkin," Jesse assures as he pushes his target away. He sucks in a deep breath, needing some actual oxygen to meet his wilting brain cells.

His target, Hanzo Shimada, moves back until he's seated on the mattress. Hair and clothes disheveled, the clan heir still makes every effort to look somewhat composed. The effort is appreciated by Jesse, who finds some thrill in having the man before stare at him like he's a piece of art to collect: intense and appreciative.

Jesse is more than willing to indulge with a show. It's certainly not the first time that Jesse has put on a show for a target, but this one feels special somehow. There's something about the way that Shimada's gaze roams over his body that kindles a spark of heat through him. Maybe it's the mutual attraction. The man before him certainly ranks at the top of all the honeypot missions Gabe has ever sent him out on.

"Not much of an expert," Jesse admits demurely and the words work as intended.

"I have no need for practiced superficiality," The Yakuza responds. He leans back with his weight resting on one hand. The other slowly palms at his groin in an effort to be patient. "Proceed."

"Aw shucks," Jesse smiles.

He starts with the shirt considering that it's already ripped and exposing half his chest. Jesse shrugs out of the sleeves and pops off the remaining buttons until the white button-up falls to the floor. He steps forward to close the distance between himself and Hanzo, kicking off his shoes in the process. Their eyes meet as Jesse deftly unbuttons and unzips his pants. There isn't much of a show after all, but only because Jesse is feeling impatient the longer Shimada watches him. He steps out of his pants and rubs himself through the fabric of his boxer briefs.

Jesse opens his mouth to say something, but his words get caught in his throat as the Shimada heir surges forward like a viper striking. His hands grip Jesse's hips to hold him there as he presses those plush lips against his arousal. Jesse groans, head falling back and hand threading through that silky dark hair. The Shimada keeps mouthing at him through the fabric, kissing the tip of his cock with the same fervor that he kissed him on their way here. He tugs on the waistband until Jesse is out and exposed.

There isn't much of a warning of what the Shimada heir is about to do next. In hindsight, Jesse should have expected it after suffering through watching him tongue through dessert. The Shimada laps at the head of his cock, generously slicking it up with his spit. Once satisfied, he turns his gaze up at Jesse. The command there is implicit: _Watch me_. Hanzo slips his lips around the entirety of Jesse's girth with practiced ease. It's one singular, smooth movement as the Shimada keeps moving, slipping more of the length into his greedy mouth. He stops only when the heated air from his nose flares against the trimmed patch of hair at the base.

Jesse nearly falls over, knees feeling weak at the sudden heat enveloping his dick. None of his honeypot targets have ever accomplished this before, hell, none of them have even bothered to do as much work as Hanzo has done. He steadies himself with both hands resting on the target's head, anchoring him before he carefully shifts his hips forward.

The hands on his hips squeeze in warning. Jesse, wanting to make sure he keeps his target happy, stills his body as much as it pains him to do so. He practices every bit of self-control (barely none, according to Gabe) and holds his body steady while Hanzo amuses himself.

He's slow. A tease. His head moves frustratingly slow as he moves back and forth. His target pauses at the head of his cock to tongue at the slit there. It feels like the Shimada heir is mapping out his dick, carefully memorizing every bump of vein along his length, with the way his tongue and lips flutter over it.

" _Fuck me."_

Jesse wavers, looking down at the Hanzo Shimada, and wondering if he had heard correctly. Wondering if he had just heard his target utter those words with the same voice that had demanded Bruno Giacosa Barbaresco.

" _Please_."

Jesse nearly falls over. No, this is different. It's the same voice that had demanded that wine, demanded service, and not at all at the same time. The words are issued like a command, but they are laced with such a notable layer of desperation that Jesse nearly comes right there, right onto his target's face. Desperation coming from a man who could easily buy the most expensive wine on the menu, from the man who will one day command Japan's criminal underbelly.

The thought is one hell of a rush.

Jesse takes himself into hand and traces the Shimada's lips with the tip of his cock. He grins, smug. "Get on the bed."

Having read the intel on Hanzo Shimada, Jesse half-expects some stubborn resistance to the order. Instead, he finds his target scrambling to get up and fumbling to get his clothes off.

" _Ah, ah,_ sweetpea. I got ya," Jesse murmurs, following on Hanzo's heels. He stills the busy hands with his own and pulls them to his lips for a soft kiss. Hanzo moans at the slight touch and Jesse again nearly cums right there from the sound.

The vest goes first, buttons undone until Jesse can peel away the layer. He runs a hand over the Shimada's chest appreciatively before sliding under the white shirt. The hard planes of well-earned muscles greet his hand, and Jesse quietly prays that this mission becomes a two-parter so he can spend a few hours sliding his dick all over these abs.

"Sorry, darlin', don't feel very patient," Jesse murmurs though the apology is dampened by the shit-eating grin spread across his face.

Buttons fly as Jesse tugs the shirt open, ripping it open with sheer force. Indignation colors Hanzo's face before Jesse rubs a soothing, apologetic hand over the exposed skin. Jesse's hand pauses by a nipple and thumbs at it slowly.

"Could spend all day just sucklin' on these," Jesse admits.

"Filthy," His target replies though his lips quirk, amused.

Jesse drags his fingers down until they're trailing over the bulge stretching out the pinstripe fabric. He toys with the arousal, palming at it until Hanzo growls in frustration.

"Slow," The heir complains, knocking away Jesse's hand. He gets up only to divest himself of the rest of his clothes and to grab a bottle of lube. It smacks Jesse in the face, stunning him for a moment as the heir manhandles him down onto the bed. The Shimada straddles him before instructing, "Watch."

Gabe had always complained of Jesse's inability to shut up. But here-- watching as the Shimada heir drips lube over his fingers and presses into himself-- Jesse feels that he could get away without another word spoken in his life to hold onto this sight. He holds himself in his hand and squeezes at the base, making sure that he cannot finish before intended.

Hanzo's powerful thighs flex, raising himself up. His eyes are closed in concentration and his breaths is short and hurried. Jesse can't see much from his angle so he decides to take matters into his own hands.

"C'mere, sweetpea," Jesse murmurs, hands sliding up the beautiful pair of thick thighs. His hands each rest on a wonderfully rounded globe of muscle. He kneads the flesh and indulges in how much his hands struggle to grasp every bit of ass there is. He's like a man clawing out of quicksand, futilely trying to grasp more and more, but each greedy attempt leaves him all the same. Eventually, he settles with a fistful of plump flesh in each hand and gently pulls. Jesse exposes the tight ring of muscle, allowing Hanzo to delve his long, lubed fingers with ease.

The Shimada heir rewards him with a symphony of delicious noises. The sounds escaping him grow adorably higher in their pitch with each added finger. The transformation from the stone-faced Yakuza boss from earlier is mind-boggling. Jesse frankly feels blessed he's been permitted to see this, and vaguely wonders how many other men had such blessings.

"Fuck me," His target orders, voice desperate and hoarse. Hanzo grabs the lube and spills it all over Jesse's dick. The sudden chill of the lube is a little rude, but Jesse doesn't complain as Hanzo's hand slides over his length with feverish clumsiness.

"Can do," Jesse chokes out. He keeps his hands firmly grasping Hanzo's ass. Hanzo's powerful thigh muscles flex as he raises himself. With one hand guiding Jesse's cock, Hanzo slowly sinks down.

It should be criminal to moan the way Hanzo does, but then again, the man before him is the head of Japan's criminal underbelly. The moan is stuttered and high-pitched, breaking in its rawness. The sound sells pleasured chills through every nerve in his body, rivaled only by the tight and hot heat sliding down around his cock.

The sensation is so intense that Jesse is positive that he must have blacked out somewhere between inch three and inch six until Hanzo is settled. They remain there, still except for their chests laboring for breath. Jesse continues to knead Hanzo's perfect ass, needing something to keep him distracted for a moment while he gets used to the Shimada's embracing heat.

"Move," Hanzo demands, sounding just as wrecked as Jesse feels from impaling his target.

He starts off slow, getting into the rhythm of moving and breathing at the same time with shallow thrusts upwards. His muscles strain, trying to control each movement to be controlled and precise.

" _Yes_ ," The Shimada heir murmurs and actually laughs, giddy and pleased, as he starts rolling his hips in tandem. He seems lost in his own world as he rides Jesse by using his muscled legs for both leverage and descent.

Jesse lets go of Hanzo's asscheeks to enjoy the show. The once impeccably styled hair falls around the Shimada's face in a mess of inky darkness. His brows are knitted together in concentration, eyes closed, and lips parted to spill forth a cacophony of obscene sounds.

" _Please_ ," Hanzo sighs out and it jerks Jesse out of his passive appreciation for the sight.

Jesse uses every bit of strength he has left. He jerks upwards and uses their momentum to roll Hanzo onto his back. His target grunts, eyes opening from the shock of the sudden movement. Their eyes meet. Jesse makes sure to hold that gaze while he pulls back then snaps his hips forward in a deep thrust.

Hanzo's back arches off the bed like a bowstring plucked taut. Jesse repeats the motion as soon as Hanzo starts to settle back down onto the bed, thrilling in the way the chiseled body beneath him responds.

"Please, please," Hanzo repeats, wrapping a hand around himself and stroking in time with Jesse's thrusts.

It's an order that Jesse can't refuse. He obliges and starts plowing into the body beneath him with abandon. The bed protests with creaks and soon Hanzo's breathy moans turn into careless vocalizations until it all crescendos into an incomprehensible shout.

Cum paints their bodies as the Shimada heir arches off the bed. His body freezes in that stance for a moment as he rides through the orgasm, Jesse still relentlessly moving in and out. A second later and Hanzo slumps down, boneless and exhausted.

It takes a few more thrusts before Hanzo's clenching warmth drives him over the long-awaited edge. He cums still inside of his target and vaguely thinks about Golden Boy Morrison once lecturing him on safe sex.

Jesse collapses forward, unable to hold himself up any longer. The pair remain like that for what feels like an eternity, simply breathing and staring blankly out into the darkness. Eventually their breaths slow and even out until it no longer feels like hard labor to suck in fresh air.

Jesse is the first to move. He pulls out with a quiet groan and knows that his muscles will be complaining about this tomorrow. He places a quick kiss to the target's temple before stepping back.

Hanzo lifts his head and blinks out into the darkness. A bright light stuns him and instantly summons forth the man from before.

"What are you doing?" The Shimada snarls as he sits up.

"Tryna remember this," Jesse answers easily right before the light flashes against. "Easy there, darlin', just thinkin' it'd be a waste."

Jesse approaches and displays the phone. He's already snapped a few photos and they're obscene. The flash accentuates the gleam of fresh, sticky cum painting the front of Hanzo's body. His expression is a little indignant in the most recent one, but that fucked out look is still there in the messy hair and bruised lips.

"That's my phone," Hanzo replies, confused.

"Sure it is. Didn't want you thinkin' I'm tryna blackmail you or nothin'." Jesse shrugs before tilting the phone down at his own dick. He holds himself in hand for a good enough angle before snapping another photo. "Just wanna leave you somethin' to remember tonight by."

Hanzo blinks up at him, but the exxplanation placates him. Pleases him by the way he lays back down with legs spread. He can't bring himself to order it so he looks expectantly at Jesse, spent cock in hand. 

"Sure thing, sweetpea," Jesse declares before snapping one last set of photos from varying angles. He sets the phone down, walks away and eventually returns with a warm wet towel.

Hanzo's eyes close, exhausted and lulled by the way Jesse dotes on him. Jesse carefully wipes away their mess, trailing kisses after the towel. Eventually he navigates his way up to pressing sweet chaste kisses to Hanzo's lips.

"Stay," The Shimada heir demands. Jesse nods and climbs back into bed. He expects to wrap his arms around the shorter man, but finds himself surrounded by thick limbs. Hanzo embraces him from behind, presses an almost kiss to the back of Jesse's neck, and falls into slumber.

Jesse yawns and considers this a job well done before falling asleep as well. 

His best work yet if he could declare.

 

* * *

 

"This is everything?"

"Yup, everythin'."

Gabe snorts as he accepts the tiny flashdrive from his protege. He looks skeptical, but eventually plugs it into the laptop that he's working off of.

"Need anythin' else, jefe?" Jesse asks, watching as the laptop displays all the little folders of files ripped straight from the phone of Hanzo Shimada.

"Need you to leave," Gabe huffs, gaze focused on the screen before him.

"Sure thing, jefe." Jesse leaves with a polite tilt of his hat. He whistles softly to himself as he makes his way back towards his room, fingers idly toying with his personal copy of those files.

He has two days off and he intends on spending it by reliving that night with his little memento. 

**Author's Note:**

> Writing porn is like a war of attrition. Anyway, always practice safe sex !!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts and agh, idk, requests?? 
> 
> [say hi on tumblr](https://egoblow.tumblr.com/)


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